


the grey area

by vogonpoetry



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Smut, Student Council, actually wait no enemies to friends to enemies to lovers, aka she is not perfect, lol, reader is a fully developed character, semi eita is a good bro, tendou satori runs a podcast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogonpoetry/pseuds/vogonpoetry
Summary: tendou thinks you need to live a little. you think he’s the devil incarnate.[ tendou satori x f!reader + college!au + stuco!au ; cross-posted to my tumblr @ c0wisland! ]
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 241





	the grey area

There are many things in this world that perplex you: decaffeinated coffee, college-level calculus, and last and most perplexing of them all, how in _tarnation_ Tendou Satori’s spectral body slithered its way into your sophomore student council.

Rumours surrounding the business major with blood-red hair had spread like hellfire during his campaign–– stories of his sadistic treatment of competition during his volleyball days, whispers of the utterly callous way he spoke to classmates, hearsay that you, the incumbent president and election favourite, had originally taken with a grain of salt. It was, after all, only _presidential_ to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But now, as he sits with his back against his chair, one ripped-jean clad knee protruding above the table, and a smug grin on his ghastly face, you think back on the rumours you’d heard before. And you agree.

Tedou Satori is the devil incarnate.

“ _Excuse_ me?” you ask as if you’d just heard him incorrectly. You didn’t. You’d heard him _loud and clear_.

The smirk on his face grows. “I said, _Miss President_ , that we’re not a help centre for the _college_ students who can’t handle _college_ -level work. Who knows? Maybe they’ll learn a thing or two from the struggle.”

You feel like you’re playing a game of tennis. Feeling all eyes in the cabinet shift to you, it suddenly occurs to you that you _have_ to end the rally before it gets out of hand. It’s important to establish your authority at the first meeting. You will _not_ let yourself get walked over by your vice president.

“As the sophomore student council, it’s our duty to represent all sophomores’ opinions and struggles. Therefore, I believe that reviewing the workload of certain courses is a discussion we must entertain,” you reply levelly. _Good. Diplomatic enough._

Tendou’s red eyes survey you with mild amusement. Then, he crosses his arms over his raised knee and rests his chin over his forearms.

And he smiles.

Because though he might be the demon of Shiratorizawa, you’re not the angel everyone thinks you are.

Angels don’t clench their fists under the table.

* * *

His observation rings true again at the second council meeting, just a few days after the announcement of the council’s senators this year.

Tendou has his legs propped up on the edge of the table, one foot over the other, much to your ire. It’s incredibly unprofessional. “A senator’s vote should never hold as much power as an officer’s. There’s a reason why they’re a _senator_ ,” he says matter-of-factly.

“But they’re important,” you argue. “There’s twenty of them and five of us. They do the most physical work and carry out most tasks. If we told them that their vote holds only a fraction of ours, we’d lose all legitimacy. They could even impeach us.”

A devious grin creeps over Tendou’s pallid face. “Then don’t tell ‘em.”

Red hot fury pumps through your veins. “Transparency––”

“Is a lie. All governments lie,” he interrupts. “ _That_ is how they survive. Politics is dirty. No one comes out of the game a saint.” _No one enters a saint, either._

He watches you with careful eyes, noticing that although you turn the corners of your mouth upwards, at the same time, you also curl your fingers slowly into your palms. That you’ve slipped on your mask of virtue and all-that-is-holy, ready to give one hell of a performance. _Interesting._

“How about we just… hold a vote right now?” Noa asks, suddenly breaking the tension in the room. The public relations officer smiles uneasily between you two, hoping that one of you will take the bait.

“What a _wonderful_ idea,” Tendou drawls, mirth dancing in his eyes.

And as expected from the courteous and polite, you acquiesce, fighting to hide the way your fingernails are digging so deeply into your palms that even _hours_ after you stride out the meeting room, damnation on your mind, the blood-red crescents still remain visible against your flesh.

* * *

“No,” he says after you pitch your idea for implementing an on-campus Medical Emergency Response Team, MERT, to reduce the number of alcohol-related injuries the sophomore class is embarrassingly accounting for. “It’s not _anyone’s_ job to wrap drunk nineteen-year-olds in fluffy blankets and kiss their boo-boos bye-bye. If you land yourself in shit after drinking underage, you brought that shit upon yourself.”

“But the MERT would help _all_ students on campus, not just sophomores,” Hana, your treasurer, argues in your defense. You smile pleasantly her way. Perhaps all those free Starbucks runs weren’t for nothing.

“Admin doesn’t have the funding for that. Even if we passed this proposal, they’d just veto it,” Tendou retorts. “Isn’t that right, _Hana_?”

He knows he’s won when Hana doesn’t reply. “It’s great having an idealist for a president. But not all of us can live in paradise.” _Good thing the vice president raises hell, then._

From your seat at the table, you feel the tides shift in his favour.

From his seat, he smirks.

And you see _red_. Because deep down, you know he’s right.

Politics _is_ a dirty game. And though your hands appear as the cleanest at the table, they are also the emptiest. Nothing in this world is infallibly clean.

“Prez,” he calls out when you, always last to leave after meetings are adjourned, walk past him in the hallway.

With a tight smile on your face, you spin around to face your demon.

You should’ve known better, though, because where the devil goes, hell follows. And as Tendou’s thin pupils fix themselves firmly on yours, as his uncharacteristically mirthless mouth opens, as his revelation shatters your peace of mind, all hell breaks loose from the leash in his hands. It barrels towards you with foam in its mouth.

A cheating ring.

Under your and the school’s noses, the sophomore class has formed a cheating ring with more than a hundred students involved. And some might even be members of the student council.

“Out of all of us, I’d bet Noa,” Tendou guesses. “The stuff he says in his morning announcements? I wouldn’t put it past him. Hana’s too smart to cheat. Niko? He’s the secretary–– I trust secretaries with my life.”

You notice he’s left out one person in his analysis of your cabinet and cross your arms. “And me?”

Tendou’s eyes narrow as his lips pull back into a sly grin. He doesn’t say “you have morals” or “you have integrity” or even “you’re too straitlaced”. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t say anything about your _goodness_. When Tendou finally says that you aren’t part of the ring because “you wouldn’t risk tarnishing that _spotless_ reputation of yours”, you both know that he’s really calling you a _coward_.

Stamping out the fire in your eyes, you ask, “Where’d you hear about this?”

“Some of the guys I play pick-up with. They have volleyballs for brains–– they’re definitely in it.”

“And they didn’t assume that you, the student council _vice president_ , would snitch?”

One corner of Tendou’s mouth twitches upwards, though it looks a lot more bitter than smug. “Do I _look_ vice presidential?”

It’s a rhetorical question–– of course he doesn’t. Pity almost adds itself to the short list of feelings you have towards the devil. _Almost_. Because then you remember his blatant disrespect for rules, for morality, for authority. How he doesn’t _care_ about others. How he doesn’t look respectable because he _isn’t_. And that flicker of pity is also snuffed out. _Power_ , you think, _commands a respect that he doesn’t deserve._

At your silence, Tendou’s head drops subtly in a nod. _He thought so, too._ With his point proven, he continues, “Then here’s our plan. I––”

“Uh…” You bite your lip.

Nothing escapes Tendou’s hellishly keen pupils.

A bolt of realisation streaks through his mind and, instantly, his sharp features are illuminated with what can only be shock. Genuine shock. There’s _something_ he had wrong about you. You’re more than a coward.

“You don’t want to take down the ring.”

Forget the rules. Forget morals. Forget authority. Your power comes from the will of the people. And your people, the students of Shiratorizawa, are _all_ cheaters. If staying in power means backtracking on your word, then so be it.

You’re an actress.

A cackle, wild like Ninth Circle wind, leaps from his throat. “ _Of_ course. What did I expect? You’re just another power-hungry hypocrite, aren’t ya, Prez?”

If only the ground beneath your feet could open and swallow you whole.

He leans towards you until you’re at eye-level and cocks his head to the side. “ _What a shame._ ” He chuckles softly, straightens his spine, and shoves his hands in his pockets before heading towards the other end of the hallway. Throwing you a glance over his shoulder, he adds with a lilt to his voice, “When you decide to be the saint of the council again, let me know. I don’t hold grudges.”

The walk back to your dorm feels more like a trek. Try as you might to forget the incident in the hallway, nothing can shake your feeling of being totally seen through. After so long, cracks are finally starting to appear in your porcelain mask.

 _Dad wouldn’t be very happy about this_ , you think sourly. His calculating eyes burn from your memory even though you haven’t visited home in a _while_.

 _Power is deceit_ , he’d often said. _The most powerful even deceive themselves_.

And for as long as you can remember, those words have held your head above water: from the day you ran back to the house from school in fourth grade with tears in your eyes, cursing the kids you’d thought were your friends, all the way to the day you strode across the stage at graduation with _CLASS PRESIDENT_ embroidered on the stole on your neck.

You befriended your bullies, winning them over compliment by compliment, brownie by brownie. You charmed your teachers, arriving early to make small talk, leaving late to ask questions. You gripped helplessness and forged it into power. Invincibility. _Evolution_. You made people _adore_ you. And slowly, you clawed your way out of the darkest depths of the ocean and onto a throne.

But at the end of each day when you take off that crown, you realise over and over in the grand emptiness of the throne room that you aren’t _powerful_.

You’re just a great pretender.

Clenching your fists tightly, you cut through the quad for a shortcut back to your dorm. As you pass a vibrant row of pink carnations, your mother’s voice whispers over the loop of your father’s words, just like she’s always done.

 _Be someone everyone wants to respect, but above all, love_.

Your brows furrow. Isn’t that what you’re doing?

* * *

The devil lights the cheating ring on fire a week before the start of semester exams. You learn about it through the school newspaper.

_TENDOU SATORI TAKES DOWN CHEATING RING, SAYS IT WAS “HIS PLEASURE”_

Throwing the scrunched up newspaper on the library table in front of him, you hiss, “ _Why?_ ”

“You’d know if you read the article,” Tendou replies in a sing-song voice, though his gaze remains glued to his phone. “Cheaters never win.”

“I didn’t take you for the righteous type.”

Finally laying his phone down, he meets your eyes with upturned lips. “That’s because I’m _not_ righteous, Prez. I just do what _feels_ right.”

Crossing your arms, you stare down at his half-lidded gaze. “And what do you call that?” If Tendou Satori is about to say that all of his actions are conducted in _good faith_ because it “feels right”, you’ll be damne––

“Call it intuition.”

There is nothing you can say to that. Perplexed, you remain standing in front of him, unable to string together a coherent response.

_Intuition?_

Knowing that he’s caught your tongue, Tendou grins like a Chesire cat. You firmly press your lips into a thin line, spin around, and prepare to storm out the library. Staring at his face for any longer might leave you with high blood pressure.

But the feeling of his cold hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks. A gust of ice sweeps through your veins. Turning around with goosebumps all over your body, you shoot him an impatient glare, hoping your shock hasn’t dampened its intensity.

“You might want to read this,” Tendou says. In his other hand, he holds the wrinkled newspaper.

He’d been right about Noa.

Beneath your feet, the ground, in a diabolical delayed reaction, finally opens.

* * *

In the wake of _Studygate_ (as the students have labelled the scandal), your second-semester student council is noticeably emptier. It’s also noticeably gloomier. Along with your public relations officer, five senators have been expelled from the university. Morale is at an all-time low. Even the campus, without Noa’s morning announcements, feels a little too quiet.

That, you learn, is why the Executive Council president Ari is currently sitting across from you and Tendou in the library.

“As much as we denounce Noa’s actions, we can’t deny that his morning announcements brought our campus closer together,” she says with a sigh.

Tendou, who’s leaning against his seat with the usual nonchalance, ankle propped over his knee, hands tapping a beat into the armrests, nods in agreement. You don’t. You never tuned in anyway.

“The Executive Council is asking the two of you to take over the show for the rest of the semester.”

You blink. “Why can’t we just have people apply to take over the position?”

Ari has probably prepared for this question. “Both admin and Exec are now… a little wary of who in this school gets to be in positions of power.” _Ah_. “Tendou, you were our first choice for Noa’s replacement, not only because of your _colourful_ personality, but also because you’ve shown that you’re trustworthy.” She faces you. “Y/N, you were chosen to keep Tendou in line on the off-chance that he goes overboard.”

“So I’m the babysitter,” you say with a frown. Tendou cackles. Suddenly, you wonder if she knows just how _insufferable_ he truly is. And what hell you’d be putting yourself through if you accept her task–– not that you _won’t_. The summit of your mountain doesn’t stop at class president. You still have more to climb and you have a feeling that this project might just take you to the top.

“That’s up for the two of you to decide. We expect to see you both in Room 103 at the Media Centre at 6 AM every morning starting tomorrow,” Ari states with an air of finality. Smiling, she stands up, throws on her coat, and leaves.

You and Tendou are left to mull over your new project.

“I––”

“Save it,” Tendou says, pushing himself off his chair. “I’ll handle myself. Your pristine reputation can stay spotless, Prez. _Just like last time_.” With the faintest trace of a smirk on his face, he, too, leaves.

You detest Tendou Satori.

More importantly, as you think about how _unfair_ it is that Tendou can be unapologetically himself–– callous, condescending, and _confusing_ –– and still have everything handed to him on a silver platter, you realise that maybe you don’t hate him as much as you think.

You _envy_ Tendou Satori.

You envy how he can say things like “you brought that shit upon yourself” and still get his pitch passed. You envy how he can sneer all he wants and still have people listen. You envy how he, in his beat-up Converse and ripped skinny jeans, never looks dignified at all and still commands the same reverence as you.

You imagine how great it’d finally feel to be able to tell someone to “shut the fuck up.”

To snark back instead of biting down on your tongue.

Forget the rules. Forget chasing morals. Forget craving love.

Blinking rapidly, you force the rogue thought out of your head. _Absolutely not_. _Tendou may get things done, but he certainly doesn’t have the peoples’ respect, much less love._ No one looks at him like they look at you: a point for guidance. Still, the vision of the person _you could be_ if you tried lingers in your memory. You roll your eyes. It’d never work. Politics is all about perception.

And its deception.

* * *

Six in the morning is an unreasonable time to be awake. Five forty-five is an even more unreasonable time to wake up. For the wicked, however, the absence of sun from outside doesn’t seem to be a problem.

“ _Goood morning, everyone!_ ” Tendou sings, waving at the studio camera. “It’s your local menace, Tendou Satori.”

“And me, Y/N,” you add, less enthusiastically. “We’ll be taking over the morning announcements from now on.”

The rest of the segment passes without a hitch. Tendou tells a story about a strange dream he had (“… _so there I was, chocolate sauce on_ … _my apron…_ ”), updates the student body on an overhaul of the library’s rules (“ _In other words, students are strongly advised to stop studying the library and, instead, give up on their dreams and die_ ”), and, surprisingly, even offers some words of encouragement to your classmates. You, however, have been noticeably quiet.

“… to sum it up, although the sophomore class has been rocked with some crazy _shit_ , to say––”

“Tendou!” you hiss, looking to Ari with wide eyes. She shrugs and gestures for the show to go on.

Tendou’s eyes lock on yours as he smiles slyly. “So the president speaks!” He turns back to face the camera. “Sorry about her, folks. Our precious Prezzie’s a little camera shy.”

“Am not,” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. Eyeing the smirking redhead warily, you realise that he’s provoking you on purpose. _For what? To see you crash and burn?_ “Just thought I’d let you set the bar for our first showing. Y’know, so I can raise it in our next.”

Expecting to see surprise on his features, you can only crease your brows when you see… satisfaction.

“Guess we’ll just have to see if Y/N can keep her promise in tomorrow’s segment! This has been Tendou and Y/N, thanks for listening, and have a _splendid_ rest of your day!”

He flashes the cameras a peace sign just before someone yells, “Cut!”

Immediately, Tendou swivels around in his chair. “I gotta say, Prez. You––”

“Good work, guys,” Ari says when she approaches. “The media team will have this uploaded in about thirty minutes, which our school’s early birds will be the first to view when they wake.”

“What about Tendou swearing on air?”

Ari looks at you with a strange expression on her face. “This is college, Y/N. You can swear if you want to.”

Tendou laughs.

You string his name with every curse you know the entire way back to your dorm.

* * *

At midnight, you suddenly remember that you have a script due in six hours.

By two in the morning, you have written a grand total of five miserable words.

 _Good morning, everyone! It’s me_ ,

You also have sixteen tabs open from a Google search for “funny ways to refer to self”.

A pair of blood-red eyes flash in your mind. _You could ask for help._ At that, your expression darkens. You refuse to fall second to him. You don’t need help from someone like him. Soldiering on, you furiously clack away at your keyboard, somehow managing to finish your literary monstrosity at five in the morning. At least it’s done.

Your eyes are as red as his when you walk into the studio, gripping a venti coffee in one hand and your script in the other.

Tendou looks surprised.

When your gaze shifts to the news desk beside him, you see why. Already neatly stacked on either side of the desk are two piles of paper.

 _His_ script.

Your blood boils.

“What is this?” you hear yourself asking, feeling your fingers suffocate the sheets in your hand.

“You didn’t text me or anything last night. I prepared for the worst.”

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, maybe it’s the feeling of _losing_ burrowing in your chest, maybe it’s the fact that you finally have to acknowledge Tendou Satori’s undeniable _competence_ –– or maybe it’s all of the above. But when you brush past him and furiously scan the script he’s written, your already fractured mask finally bursts. Because it’s _so_ much better than yours.

All around you fall jagged shards of clay.

“FIVE MINUTES TIL LIVE!”

Tendou watches your body tremble. When you raise your face to the ceiling, cheeks shiny with water, chest rising and falling unevenly, he realises that you are about to _lose your fucking mind_.

 _Ah_. _What to do?_

Hoisting himself atop the desk, Tendou positions his body so that he’s covering your face from the film crew.

_What… to do?_

There isn’t a single box of tissues in the studio. And you’re wearing a nylon puffer jacket over a short-sleeved shirt today–– neither of which will absorb water.

 _Tsk_.

He looks down at the sleeves of his hoodie in contemplation. Rolling his eyes, he slides off the desk and pulls the fabric over his hands.

“Y/N,” he says quietly. The unfamiliar sound of your name falling from his lips pulls you back to reality ever-so-briefly. A second later, the soft fabric of Tendou’s hoodie is wiping the tears off your cheeks. Between interruptions of black, your stunned eyes can barely make out the features of his face–– only the vermilion of his hair and the ivory of his skin under studio lights.

Oddly enough, he doesn’t look like the devil at all.

“LIVE IN ONE!” All around, the production room roars to life.

Tendou Satori sits down in his seat and flips through his script as if nothing has happened.

He looks over his shoulder, right where you’re rooted to the ground. “You coming?”

At half-past six, when the cameras finally cut, when the lights shut off, you let the smile on your face drop. Without a word, you rise from your seat and slip through the exit, unaware of the thin red pupils trained on the back of your head the entire way out.

The rest of the day flies by with your body on autopilot. Your mind, however, is abuzz like a subway at rush hour and twice as disorganised.

As you sit in the front row of Modern Political Thought, your attention gravitates back to the redhead’s actions for the hundredth time. Is he a _good_ person? _Fuck_ no. But can you still say with utmost conviction that he’s… _bad_? You aren’t so sure anymore. In fact, you aren’t sure who Tendou Satori _is_ anymore. What his values are.

A buzz from your phone draws you out of contemplation. _Speaking of…_

 **tendou:** we need to talk

 **tendou:** meeting room 8 pm

* * *

Tendou’s back faces the door as he leans against the windowsill, peering out into the night. You wonder what he’s thinking.

You didn’t use to. _How odd_.

“I know that I’m quite the sight, but you gotta say something,” he jokes, breaking the silence first. After waiting for your reply and receiving none, he shifts so that his back rests against the window. Circular eyes lazily land on your tense figure.

This isn’t like you, he muses. To be so small. _What’s changed?_

Silence grips at your throat–– you don’t know what to say. There’s too much you want to know. But the questions that nearly deafened you throughout the day are now quiet in the time you need them at their loudest.

Finally, you speak. “Your text. What’d you want to talk about?”

 _Ah. So you’d deflect first. Clever, clever_. An amused breath blows out from Tendou’s nose.

 _Fine._ He’ll give you your space. After all, jammed buttons aren’t any fun to press. With that in mind, Tendou considers his options carefully. At this rate, there’s no telling when you might next crash… and when you’ll finally _burn_. His eyes fall naturally on Noa’s old seat and he imagines yours at the head of the table with the same emptiness. The thought of running an entire council without you causes a shiver to run down his spine.

With a smirk, he finally says, “Script-writing.”

Tendou Satori sits with his back against his chair, one ripped-jean clad knee protruding above the table, and an amused smile on his alabaster face as his slender fingers tango across his laptop keyboard. Across from him, you think back on the rumours you’d heard before.

“Why’d you do that for me in the studio?”

The clacking stops. Red eyes flick up to your face and rest there as if assessing your intentions.

“Shouldn’t you be writing _your_ parts?” he replies, a corner of his lips twitching up. It’s a non-answer.

“Tendou.”

He sighs. “It felt like the right thing to do.” With that, he turns his gaze back to his screen.

Briefly, you’re sent back to that day in the library.

_“I didn’t take you for the righteous type.”_

_“I’m_ not _righteous, Prez. I just do what_ feels _right.”_

_“And what do you call that?”_

_“Call it intuition.”_

And what do you call intuition?

Tendou looks up again from his screen when he realises that the lack of sound coming from your side of the table can only mean that you’re still thinking. _Is it_ that _hard to believe that he just does what he feels like doing?_ A flash of irritation passes over his face.

“What?” he asks, crossing his arms. “Why’re ya looking at me like I’m a fucking cryptid?” There’s a look of mirth in his eyes but he feels anything but mirthful. He hates the feeling of being dissected under others’ eyes. Hates being assessed like some freak of nature. Hates the attention he doesn’t _ask_ for. Like yours right now.

“I’m just trying to figure out what you are.”

“Satan? Youkai? _The Jersey Devil?_ ” He’s heard it all before. It wouldn’t faze him to hear it again. But it’d sure burn.

No. Tendou Satori isn’t the devil incarnate.

“I can’t decide whether your alignment’s good or bad.”

He isn’t an angel either.

After a contemplative pause, he speaks. “You really think this world falls perfectly into categories?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “That people can only be one extreme or the other? _Should_ be?”

You gnaw on your lip.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. Suddenly, you’re not the cunning megalomaniac hiding behind a funhouse mirror of cardinal virtues. Tendou realises that you’re the blindfolded fool running towards what you think is the light. It’s not. It’s just the wavering flame of someone else’s candle. He doesn’t know, nor care to know, whose candle it is; he just knows that by the time you get to it, you’ll only find the remnants of melted wax and ash.

_What to say?_

“There exists,” he says, “a place between black and white–– a gradient, where circles overlap, a state of being more than one–– called the grey area. Where you are allowed to contain multitudes.” Seeing your brows crease, he continues. “To define is to limit. No one is exclusively ‘good’ or ‘bad’. To expect that of yourself is stupid. So stop that shit and do whatever the fuck you want, Y/N.”

Satisfied with his answer, Tendou’s gaze returns to the script on his screen. And like he hasn’t just flipped your world on its axis, he says, “Now, how do you spell ‘embarrass’?”

* * *

The weeks go by in a blur. Starting your mornings at five forty-five becomes normal. Walking into the studio with a cup of coffee in one hand every day and two copies of a script every other becomes routine. Laughing at Tendou’s jokes becomes easier. Letting your own jokes rip also becomes easier.

“Anyway, this is a reminder from the film club that their cameras _are not_ to be checked out for filming adult home videos,” Tendou reads from the paper on the desk, a cackle escaping his lips as he does. “Or at least, if they are, please _erase the memory card_ before returning the equipment.”

“And should you choose to profit from said videos, the club is requesting up to eighty percent of all proceeds to contribute to members’ student debt alleviation trust,” you improvise, snickering.

Tendou’s jaw drops. “Did Miss President just add to a _sex_ joke?”

Rolling your eyes, you retort, “Bite me.”

It’s like you’ve grown horns on your head. “Is that _another sex joke_?”

Ending each day of classes, meetings, and hours spent on assignments in the library with Tendou Satori sitting across from you, too, becomes normal.

“How’s ‘only time will tell’?” you ask, frowning at the document before your eyes.

“No,” he says without a second glance. “Not funny.”

“It works,” you argue. “The line before is about the graffiti on the clock tower. People would laugh.”

“Yeah. Probably the old and senile. Too bad our students are all twenty-somethings capable of lucid thought.”

There’s a pause. Then a sigh. A pale hand latches onto your laptop and spins it around. A few moments pass before he spins it back around, boredom evident on his face.

“There. Now _zip_ it, Prez.”

 **Y/N (adding):** so whoevers been spraying dicks on our precious timepiece, u better fucking watch it

Respect grows between you like a flower through concrete. During council meetings, the ruby haired vice president continues to poke holes in every pitch you present with the same insufferable smirk on his face. You continue to push for “bullshit” projects, as he calls them in private. Old habits die hard. But at least they’re dying.

That’s why, when March strolls out from behind the snow and spring finally settles its roots into the ground, when the student council starts planning the May Sophomore Social, when one of your senators cuts you off rudely for the third time in one meeting and asks “where’s the funding for _that?_ ” after you _just went over the fucking funding_ , you don’t smile tightly and clench your fists beneath the table like you would have before.

“Maybe you’d know if you’d just shut the _fuck_ up and listened, Kevin.” It feels so _damn_ good. Oddly enough, it feels like having wings on your back. You hardly even care what colour its feathers are anymore. Climbing to new heights has always been the goal–– _how_ you get there, you realise, doesn’t matter as much as getting there itself.

Tendou whistles. No one has seen you evolve like him. Does he feel guilty that he’s possibly thrown you into the deep end? Not entirely–– you had your toes in the water already. You just needed a reason, permission, to fall. It only felt right to put his hand against your back and _push_.

* * *

“What’s that you always get from Starbucks?” he asks one week in April. You eye him curiously. It’s by no means warm enough to be wearing just a thin hoodie, but Tendou’s never been one for following rules. That alone isn’t why your curiosity’s been piqued. You’ve never seen him in _that_ hoodie before.

“Coffee. Why?”

“No, stupid. What kind?”

 _Oh_. “A latte, two shots of espresso. I’ve been trying oat milk, too. I heard it’s better for the environment.”

He smirks, the act lighting up his entire face. “I knew it. Thought you’d be the type.” He’d been thinking about your coffee habits?

It’s your turn to ask questions. “Is that a new hoodie?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “How’d you know?” You crease your forehead. How _did_ you know? “Yeah, it is. My friend Semi’s in this band and they just came out with merch. Pretty sick, right?”

Seeing you nod, he reaches into his bag on the floor and pulls out an album with the same design. “Want one? I bought twelve.”

The line at Starbucks at five-fifty in the morning grows longer by one hoodie-clad business-major. He likes two shots of espresso in his mocha. Venti.

On the way to the studio, he recognises the tune you’re humming as Semi’s song.

* * *

It’s early-May and the Sophomore Social is two weeks away when the little camaraderie you’ve forged shatters.

“Prezzie, you don’t have many friends, do ya?”

You look up from your script, over your propped-up legs on his coffee table with one foot over the other. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask with narrowed eyes.

“I’ve never seen you hang out with anyone other than me,” he notes, shrugging.

It’s true. Because you _don’t_ have many friends. Friends are people you can’t live without, people who see you at your worst and _stay_ , people who also hand you secrets in the form of daggers and trust you to not wield it against them. You don’t have any friends.

You have extras in your film. Temporary places to stay. Pawns in a game.

Does that make you a _good_ person? _Hell_ no. But does that make you bad?

“I text my classmates,” you say slowly. “We send each other memes. Isn’t that friendship in this day and age?”

Tendou snickers. “Who at Shiratorizawa can confidently say they know you through and through? Even more than I do?”

“Are you calling me your friend?”

Surprise flicks across his face. Then, his lips pull back in a sly grin. “Are _you_?”

And as you look at the boy with milky skin and cherry hair and scarlet eyes, you realise that you are.

Tendou Satori is your friend.

Panic seizes your heart, forcing a sudden flood of blood through your body because friends were also people who’d asked for your secrets and strung them up like fairy lights. Friends were people who had “discreetly” moved their bags over open spaces whenever you passed, people who had said you cared _too much_ –– that you were too “clingy” when all you wanted was a space outside of the house to play. You’ve had friends before.

“We’re not friends,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Boulders tumble down your stomach as the words leave the other way out your mouth. You regret it _immediately_. But you can’t pluck words out from the air, can you?

_What to say?_

An unreadable expression finds its way onto Tendou’s face. Gulping imperceptibly, you force your gaze back to the screen, trying to pretend the exchange never happened.

“Why?” His voice cracks at the end.

Sometimes when the heavens throw you a lifeline, you take it.

This is not one of those times.

You want to say it’s because then he’d have your heart in his hands. You want to say it’s because he’d be able to crush you like _they_ did. You want to ask if he’s ever felt like he was chained to the bottom of the ocean. Instead, you say, “I should go.”

His thin red pupils burn holes into the back of your head the entire way out.

* * *

Mornings with Tendou and Y/N after that are… different. Even though it’s you who’d built the wall between you, you seem to be taking it the hardest. Meeting his eyes is hard. Banter across the news desk falls out of sync. The hours that come after eight in the evening are unfathomably lonely. They didn’t use to feel that way. Your heart feels heavier every time you hear his voice.

“We have everything set for the Sophomore Social,” you say, looking at the spreadsheet on your screen, “except for music. Niko got Post Malone to open but we’re still missing our closing artist.”

“Uncle Posty comin’ through again!” Niko cheers quietly, pumping a fist into the air.

“I know the lead from The Underground,” Tendou suddenly offers. But you already knew that. He’s talking to the rest of the council. “He’ll probably say yes.” You bite down on your lip, remembering how he’d given you their album. It’s still somewhere in your room. _It’s underneath your pillow_.

Everyone looks to you for the green light. Irises tremoring faintly, your gaze finally meets Tendou’s. “Sure. Thanks.” He tilts his head to the side and looks back at you with slightly upturned lips. For the first time, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

* * *

On May 19th, the Shiratorizawa quad is transformed by the student council into the perfect outdoor party. By eight o’clock, the last piece of the wooden dance floor is laid on the grass, the tables for refreshments are set up, and all around, fairy lights and lanterns hang around trees and poles in the ground. In front of the dance floor is the stage. Everything is ready for students to trickle in at nine.

You pace back and forth across the dance floor, wringing your hands as you check over the venue one last time. Your white dress, a long satin piece with a slit up your thigh, swishes as you spin in nervous circles. From afar, you can see that Tendou’s wearing a maroon tuxedo that brings out the red in his hair–– not that you care.

An hour into the social, Tendou _almost_ leaves your mind.

Semi Eita is a silver-haired daydream with a sharpness to his features that you notice more and more as he, over the next thirty minutes, slowly shortens the distance between you. You’re charmed, but you know he doesn’t really _care_ to know you. At least, like _that_.

“… and then out of _nowhere_ this shrimpy little ginger just spiked it _straight_ down,” he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. Semi rests his arm on one of the cloth-covered high top tables, leaning his weight against it. “Even got our Guess Monster stumped.”

At that, you raise an eyebrow. “Guess Monster?”

Semi points to Tendou’s figure on the dance floor with his nose. “That nutjob over there.”

A short breath of amusement leaves your nose. “Ah. My vice president.” _Guess Monster suits him, though_. You suddenly remember what he said about intuition.

“You’re _that_ Y/N?” he exclaims, straightening his back. Instantly, his eyes begin to dart around the quad. When he finds what he’s been looking for, he relaxes, then lets out a frustrated sigh. Turning back to you with a slightly guilty expression on his face, he adds, “Satori’s told me a lot about you.”

“Like?” Curiosity–– and _dread_ –– creeps up your brain like unfurling ivy. You wonder if Semi knows that you and his former teammate are no longer on speaking terms.

He grins slyly. It’s not the same as Tendou’s–– it’s less _wicked_ and _playful_ and a little more… _knowing_. Like he’s in on a secret about you that you aren’t aware of.

“I won’t say any more than the fact that I know about your trouble in paradise.” _Trouble in paradise_? You fight the urge to scoff. “But, I will say that you’re not the only person who’s slow to open up.”

Quizzically raising a brow, you follow Semi’s gaze back to the dance floor. He smiles fondly at Tendou, who’s now bobbing to yet another Juice WRLD song with Niko. At first, you think that Tendou looks like an absolute idiot. But when you spot how bright his smile is, the only thought that remains in your mind is how much you’ve missed seeing it up close. You’ve missed being close to him.

“He’s more than just good at reading blocks, Y/N,” Semi says, _something_ twinging his voice. “He’s excellent at reading people.”

“Yeah.” You know _all_ about it.

“Under what circumstances does someone develop a curse like that?”

And all the pieces fall into place.

Tendou Satori isn’t the devil, nor is he an angel.

Tendou Satori is only human.

Seeing the realisation on your face, he smiles sadly. “He’s not mad at you, though,” he adds. “Tendou doesn’t hold grudges.” You also know all about that. “What a weird guy.”

“Tell me about it,” you reply, laughing. But it eases the unrest in your chest. _Unrest for what?_

A cool breeze blows between you and Semi. With the change in atmosphere, a crafty look appears on his face. “Say, Y/N, how do you feel about doing all _three_ of us a favour? You, me, and Tendou?”

“Depends on what the favour is.”

Semi inches closer, bringing his head close enough to yours that you can see the faintest freckles dotting his cheeks. “During the next slow song, can you put your hand on my arm and laugh obnoxiously loudly like I’ve just said the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“How would that benefit _any_ of us?”

Semi doesn’t respond, only continues to look at you with the same mischievous gaze.

When Tendou Satori comes stalking your way with hellfire in his eyes at the start of the next slow song, you understand what game Semi’s playing at.

“ _Semisemi_ ,” Tendou sings, voice saccharine sweet. The chilling smile on his face drops and he suddenly glares at his silver-haired friend who blinks innocently in response.

Tearing your hand off Semi’s arm, you look at Tendou with wide eyes, feeling both guilty and confused–– the latter occurring _because_ of the former.

“You should probably do your instrument check now, yeah?” he asks, the ice in his voice a stark contrast to the way his hand rests on Semi’s shoulder.

Semi grins. “Yeah. I’ll go do that.” He winks at you and says a quick “see you around, Y/N” before strolling away with a bounce in his step.

With just you and Tendou beside the table, the crisp nighttime air suddenly grows thinner. It feels like all the space for oxygen has been taken up by words neither of you is willing to say.

Tendou eyes you warily, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So. Semi.”

“What about him?” You quirk up a brow, noticing how his jaw clenches at your question.

A beat passes. Red eyes continue to stare into yours as he opens his mouth, ready to fire back a razor-sharp retort, only to let it die in his throat. Following a deep inhale, Tendou’s shoulders loosen. His jaw unclenches.

“I’m not letting our first conversation in a month centre around _that dick_ ,” he mutters, rubbing his hands over his face. “Knowing him, he probably…” Trailing off, he seems to figure out that it was all a little act, written and directed by none other than Semi Eita. With a gentle shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitch up. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”

You chuckle softly. “Yeah. Why?”

Tendou’s gaze falls to the floor, oxford-clad feet kicking lightly at the dirt. The last time he gave you the opportunity to take one step further, you took twenty right out the door. _Still, there’s actually no better moment than this_ , he thinks. _The fairy lights above that all those rom-coms always have, the music–– is that Ed Sheeran?–– is coming to an end, we’re both dressed to the nines… it just feels right._

“… I have _certain_ feelings for you.”

Carefully, he watches your face. He’d be okay if you don’t return them. But it’d sure burn.

Stiffening, you meet his eyes imploringly. Those ruby red pupils show nothing but complete honesty.

“What, um, what _kind_ of feelings?” _Why’d you say it like_ that _?_ _Get a grip on yourself, Jesus_.

A breathy laugh tumbles out of Tendou’s lips. Of course _you’d_ make him work for it. “I’m not sure myself,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just know that I like being around you. Even at 6 AM. Sharing dick jokes. Getting coffee.” He pauses, furrowing his brows like he’s just had another revelation. “And there’s no one else I’d rather do that with. The thought makes me a little sick, to be honest.”

An expression you’ve never seen on _anyone_ before surfaces from every last corner of his features–– the tender crease in the outer corner of his eyes, the soft quirk of his lips, the way his nose moves with each shaky intake of air. What do you call _that_?

A voice you’ve never heard inside your head speaks up. _Love_. _You call that love_.

_Ah. What do I say?_

Words have never been your strong suit. They’re Tendou’s.

Then… _what do I_ do _?_

Your body answers by pushing the balls of your feet against the ground, raising you up just high enough to brush your lips against his.

You think this is what absolution feels like to a sinner.

* * *

You’re wrong.

 _This_ is absolution to a sinner.

Tendou’s warm mouth trails down your neck as his fingers dig into the flesh on your hips. You writhe on top of his bed under his touch. “Are you sure?” he breathes between kisses, carmine hair tickling your jaw.

“Yes–– _fuck_ –– stop teasing.” Your words come out as strained sighs. A wicked gleam appears in his eyes before his lips stop over the curve between your collarbone and neck, sucking sinfully slowly before the heat of his mouth is replaced by air hitting your wet skin.

Tendou straightens his body, wasting no time to pull off his shirt. He tosses it carelessly on the floor, revealing an ivory chest of lean muscle toned by years of volleyball. A rush of pride surges through him when he sees you admire his body with obvious desire. Smirking, he moves to unbuckle his belt and slides off his jeans.

“Well, isn’t this just unfair?” he murmurs lowly, training his gaze on your reclined figure. Tendou’s fingers latch onto your shirt, tugging it over your head. It joins his on the floor. He lets you deal with your bra as he tugs on your pants and underwear. They, too, slide off. _Fuck_. _You’re gorgeous_. Tendou lunges over you with knees on either side of your thighs, supporting himself with a hand against his headboard, and latches his mouth onto yours–– kissing fervently as the fingers on his free hand find their way to and inside your soaked entrance. He pumps two fingers in at a steady pace, stretching them against your walls in preparation for what’s to come.

“Satori,” you moan when his lips detach from yours. “ _Please_ just fu––”

Interrupting your sultry pleas, he pulls his fingers out and places them in his mouth, making eye contact with you as he sucks them clean. “You taste _so_ good, Miss President.”

 _Oh_. Something inside of you snaps at the sound of his old pet name–– it never used to but now it sounds absolutely _filthy_.

All you can do is whimper. Nothing escapes Tendou’s ears. At the sound of your voice, so desperate, so _needy_ , all his plans for prolonged foreplay go out the window. He slides off his boxers, revealing his fully-erect, precum-coated length, rolls a condom over the shaft, and lines himself up against your entrance.

“Fuck me,” you beg.

Who is he to refuse his president?

Gripping the sides of your hips, Tendou slides in with ease. “Shit,” he groans when he bottoms out inside you. “You’re divine.” And he starts moving, thrusting into you at a slow pace at first. But as you start moaning his name like _that_ , like it’s a _prayer_ , like it’s the only damn word you know while your fingers rub circles on your clit, he picks up the pace, snapping his hips against yours like there’s no tomorrow.

Your back arches when the tip of his cock brushes against _something_ inside you. It feels _amazing_ –– you feel _amazing_. You think you see stars.

“Look at me, baby,” Tendou grits out, still pounding into you. His hands run up and down the sides of your waist, gripping your flesh so hard you know there’ll be faint reminders of today on your skin tomorrow. “Look at me while I’m fucking you.” With a gasp, you open your eyes, the sight of your lover’s blazing eyes sending waves of arousal through your nerves.

The two of you are going to hell, that’s almost certain. But first, you’re making a pit-stop in heaven.

“Baby, I think I’m––” You don’t finish your sentence. But you know your hypothesis was correct when your entire body lights up like a firework as it explodes in the sky.

Seeing you come undone beneath him, Tendou’s climax arrives soon after as he slams his hips into yours one last time, moaning your name as he feels himself cum inside the condom.

Breathing heavily, he presses a soft kiss against your lips before slowly pulling out. He slides the condom off, ties it, and throws it in the trash.

“How was it?” he murmurs once the night is over, pressing his lips to the back of your neck. “I probably shouldn’t have skipped through––”

You giggle. “It’s fine. You’re amazing.” If he’d slipped up at any point, you can’t remember now. And even if you did, you wouldn’t care. The only thought in your head is how utterly _blessed_ you are to be loved by the boy with cardinal hair and marble skin. You’d forgive him for anything in a heartbeat. You can’t blame him.

Tendou Satori is only human.


End file.
